


everything i need's in your smile

by kagako



Category: 2moons2, เดือนเกี้ยวเดือน | 2 Moons The Series (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Grand Displays Of Affection :), Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Self-Doubt, They're In Love Your Honor, This is just SOFT idk what else to tag, but not for long...., mingkit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:21:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25983517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kagako/pseuds/kagako
Summary: He watches as Ming takes his hand away from where it was resting on his shoulder, maneuvering their hands so that his own is cradled in Ming’s larger one. And Kit watches, as still as he’s ever been, as Ming brings his hand up, and up a bit more, until his lips press, tender and affectionate, against the back of Kit’s hand.His first thought is that, no one has ever done that to him before.
Relationships: Ming Mingkwan Daichapanya/Kit Mongkol Intochar, Ming/Kit
Comments: 17
Kudos: 158
Collections: All





	everything i need's in your smile

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deadofdecember (TalkingIsJustAWasteOfBreath)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TalkingIsJustAWasteOfBreath/gifts).



> i have finally completed this ! i am very proud of this fic tbh 😭  
> i hope it does mingkit justice and makes everyone else happy and smile too! 
> 
> this one's for summer! thank you so much for being a great friend :") i am so happy we can yell about thai bl dramas together, and i can't wait to scream WEEKLY about 2moons3 when it airs next year! i hope you enjoy this as much as i did writing it, and i hope you love it lots. thank you for being the greatest 😭 ily !!! ♥
> 
> please enjoy! <3
> 
> title is from natural affair by the growlers (just... tweaked a little!)

It wasn’t as if Kit couldn’t feel Ming’s stare. It was as apparent to him as the sunlight in his eyes, as apparent to him as breeze, warm and gentle, against his skin. Kit could see him out of the corner of his eye—Ming’s lips were curled upward slightly, soft and sweet, and his eyes were… _his eyes_ were…

Kit shifts in his seat and tries to focus on the anatomy book in front of him, the endless pages of notes on his left and right. There is a name for _that look._ There _is_ a name, Kit knows it for certain, has seen it before on many faces, nameless and familiar. It’s an emotional word, one that gets stuck in his throat, one that makes Kit feel like he’s walking on air, as if time moves just for _them._

It is a silly thought, but one that has him fighting a smile.

Across from him, Ming chuckles.

Kit can feel his ears redden as he clears his throat. When he glances toward Ming, his smile is still so soft, and his eyes are still full of stars. It’s too much, so heart wrenching, and while that should be enough to cause Kit to look pointedly away, he cannot help but indulge in that sweetness, that smoldering fondness, just a bit more.

Kit cannot _help_ but glance back at him a few more times before reasoning with himself that he _really shouldn’t keep looking._

And so, he tries to focus on his textbook once again, but the seemingly endless terms and diagrams just swim in front of his eyes, unattainable. His focus is undoubtedly elsewhere, across from him, wrapped around another person. A thought comes to him—one along the lines of, _but hasn’t it always been like this?_ There had been countless times his eyes had wandered, countless times his thoughts had strayed; but Kit cannot muster up the strength to be too hard on himself.

 _After all…_ he thinks, gaze flickering toward Ming again.

Kit ducks his head, thoroughly exhausted. With a sigh that sounds more defeated than he actually feels, he stuffs a bookmark into his textbook before closing it. It’s a challenge to keep his gaze fixated on his task, and Kit silently applauds himself as he closes his notebooks shut, stacking them neatly atop his textbook.

“…P’Kitkat?”

Kit hums in question, his skin prickling pleasantly as Ming ducks his head to try and catch his eye.

“Were we not studying?” Ming asks curiously.

“I was… trying to,” Kit tells him, and finally meets his gaze. It is just the same as before: soft, full of stars, the galaxies instead seeming to take residency in Ming’s irises, his pupils, instead of the atmosphere. Kit forces himself to hold Ming’s gaze, because for all the embarrassment he feels, for the urge to avert his gaze and _hide,_ he cannot seem to deny himself the swell of emotion that makes a home dangerously close to his heart. “It’s… hard to study when you stare at me like that.”

Strangely enough, Ming looks confused. “What do you mean by that, P’Kit?”

Kit gives him a look, exasperated. “What do _you_ mean, what do I mean,” he mumbles, shaking his head with furrowed brows.

“I mean what I… asked?” Ming tries, his smile easy, much like it always is; his eyes bright and attentive, much like they always are.

It is in that expression—his smile, his eyes, Ming’s _entire being—_ that the seams containing every ounce of fondness and adoration Kit’s ever felt toward Ming become a little bit weaker.

“Like that,” Kit whispers weakly, nodding toward Ming as if the guy could see what he sees. When Ming simply tilts his head, he looks away; but then there is movement out of the corner of his eye. Kit cannot help but look back only to follow it, watching as Ming extends an arm across the table, his fingers just barely reaching Kit’s own.

“Like…that?” Ming murmurs, and if possible, everything on his face becomes even _softer._

Kit flushes, but he does not take his hand away. He stares at the distance between their fingers and thinks about making it disappear. Just a bit more, and Kit could hold Ming’s hand. “Yeah,” he says instead, his voice quiet enough that Ming leans in just to hear him, but then again, Ming is always leaning in. He is always shuffling closer and making a place just for himself in Kit’s little bubble. Kit looks at their hands again, his heart tugging at the sight, and then to Ming. “You’re always staring at me… like that.”

There’s that confusion on Ming’s face again. “I was staring?” he asks slowly, brows drawn together.

“Are you making fun of me?” Kit makes a face at him, angling his leg just right so he could potentially kick Ming under the table.

“What? No, of course not, Kitty,” Ming says quickly, and before Kit could snarl at him for the endearment, Ming’s sliding his hand forward, covering the back of Kit’s hand with his own, uncaring of any unwanted gazes. He grazes his fingertips along Kit’s knuckles, his heart at peace. When Ming glances at Kit, he feels short of breath just by the sight of him. There is a distinct fondness on Kit’s face; one that Ming has learned means that Kit’s heart is at peace, too. Ming smiles a little wider. “I guess I’m just… always looking at you. So I didn’t even notice I was staring.”

Kit huffs, but it sounds more like surprised laughter, so Ming just keeps smiling, lopsided and open. “How do you just… _say things_ like that,” Kit mumbles. He rolls his eyes, but there is no annoyance behind it. Just seeing Ming smile is enough to have the corners of his mouth twitching upward too, and it’s something that’s become more and more difficult to control.

“I’m not joking,” Ming says earnestly, the expression on his face as serious as it is when he’s boxing _._ “I mean it. I…I’m always looking. I’ve always _been_ looking.”

“I… “ Kit ducks his head, overwhelmed by the intensity that is _Ming._

He wonders if the guy across from him had seen _his_ intensity, too—as muted and gentle as it may be, Kit can feel it, so surely Ming could, too. He _wants_ to ask if Ming’s felt his stare, if he’s felt Kit’s eyes following, following, _following_ , but he’s unsure of what words could possibly come out of his mouth. Kit smiles, a private, small one all to himself, because it wasn’t often this happened to him. He feels like he’s walking on air, all choked up, and it’s such a surreal feeling that he has to count backwards from ten just to remember that he does in fact _need to breathe._

Kit sighs, a barely there exhale, and flips his hand so that their hands are palm to palm with each others. He looks up just in time to catch the grin threatening to split Ming’s face in half, and he decides that it _is_ enough courage for a lifetime and more.

“I know,” Kit says softly, because he does. Not just their moment prior, but all their moments _before_ , too—Kit has felt Ming’s stare, his eyes following his movements. “You… have you, that is… uh...” Kit takes a deep breath, silently cursing because of course, it wouldn’t be that easy. He lets his gaze fall to the knobs of Ming’s knuckles.

“P’Kit?” Ming murmurs, and it is soft and sweet, just another gentle push.

“Have you felt… me?” Kit asks, and then quickly he clarifies: “staring.” He hopes to whatever deities out there that Ming could not feel that rapid pulse at his wrist. As if reading those thoughts, Ming’s fingers are _there_ , drawing little circles carefully, causing Kit’s skin to light on fire. The touch is comforting, but it makes him feel so hyperaware of everything that his head becomes terrifyingly empty.

For a moment, he’s scared to look up—who knows what kind of expression could be on Ming’s face?

But then, Kit thinks, _this is Ming._

When he looks up, time really does seem to stop, just for them.

“Kit,” Ming says softly, and it sounds so much different, without the honorific. Kit can feel his face flush, can feel the way his eyes widen and he wonders how is it, that he is so far gone for this guy in front of him. There was never a moment where Ming was not sincere, or heartfelt, but that did not mean each time it happened, Kit was prepared. The air around them becomes a little more difficult to breathe, and the noises seem to come to a halt. Kit knows what the flutter in his stomach means, even moreso when it catches in his throat. “Do you want the truth?”

“Wh—“ Kit gapes at him, fingers twitching against Ming’s wrist. “What… what’s that even supposed to _mean_.”

Ming hums, and instead of making circles at Kit’s wrist with his fingertips, he starts making hearts there, instead. “Let’s just say that… I suppose I should be grateful you even looked my way.”

“Ming!”

“What?” he laughs, and unsurprisingly, it reaches all the way up into his eyes. Ming continues tracing hearts on Kit’s wrist idly with his index finger, feeling warmer and warmer by the second. The more Kit’s fingers graze against his skin, the more Ming doesn’t want to _not_ be near him. This time, Ming is aware that he’s staring at Kit—at his wide eyes, the embarrassment and surprise there, the flush that’s stained all the way down to his neck. “I _should_ be grateful. That means you’ve felt my stare, Kitty, enough that it caught your attention, yeah?”

“That’s…“ Kit shakes his head and averts his gaze, but still his hand remains where it is, against Ming’s. He isn’t as embarrassed as he probably _should_ be which in and of itself is… troubling. Surely, it meant that Kit was getting _used_ to this. _This_ being the flirting _,_ the tender words with greater meanings, and the way Ming’s eyes held all the affection in his body when he so much as looked Kit’s way.

“Why’d you have to say it like that?” is what Kit finally asks, a sigh following close behind. “I guess… you might be kind of right. I’ll give you that much, at least.”

“ _Kind of?_ ”

“Mm...” Kit hums and nods, a cheeky smile curving his lips, now. When he looks at Ming, the guy looks confused, even a bit _offended._ Kit has to hold back his laughter because if he laughs now, he knows he won’t be able to stop. “Kind of,” he repeats instead. “After all, who knows who started looking first?”

Ming’s eyes widen at that, a pleased smile tugging his lips upward. He’s quick to bring his other hand forward, situating their hands so he is able to sandwich Kit’s hand between the both of his own. His smile seemed to grow wider, even more _pleased,_ because Kit does not make any move to pull away, nor does he look irritated, not even the ghost of it in his expression. His skin grows even warmer and he wonders just how much more he’ll fall in love with the guy in front of him. “Kit,” Ming sighs.

With a smile he tries to fight back, Kit murmurs softly, “Ming.”

“I’m just not sure, P’Kitkat,” Ming says, a little tilt of laughter in his voice.

“Oh, yeah?” Kit cannot help but roll his eyes and let the smile take over; and the thought comes to him again. _How is it,_ Kit wonders, watching as Ming maneuvers their hands, _that I’m_ so _far gone for this guy._ Kit shifts in his seat, unable to do anything but simply watch as Ming wiggles his fingers between the empty spaces of Kit’s own.

“I’m sure I started looking first,” Ming tells him, his voice the softest it’s ever been. “After all, back in grade nine… remember? I watched a traitor give that water bottle to P’Pha.”

Kit laughs, tentatively grazing his thumb against the side of Ming’s index finger. He considers that, and thinks back to the first time he saw Ming back in high school, and how even then, the guy was handsome. Kit remembers how everyone else had stared, too, and he remembers how Ming’s attention hadn’t strayed from whatever it was he was focused on, until it had. Ming had turned around, looking behind him only to lock eyes with Kit.

He had never looked away from someone so quickly, before. Kit thinks, _maybe that was the first look._

Instead of voicing the thought aloud, he just lifts a shoulder in a lazy shrug, and gives Ming a tiny smile, which Ming returns.

“We might never know,” Kit murmurs.

“Yeah…” Ming nods, and then he laughs the tiniest bit. He ducks his head a little, catching Kit’s gaze. “But, well… it’s alright. After all, we’re looking at each other now, P’Kit.”

In spite of it all, Kit laughs—abruptly, beyond his control. He looks away, that smoldering fondness threatening to take his breath away even as he tries to control the racing of his heart. Kit thinks that, surely, Ming would be the death of him.

“You… you’re right,” Kit agrees, feeling so out of his element. He squeezes Ming’s hand only to feel Ming squeeze back, and it’s enough. Kit looks at Ming, and he thinks, _this is enough._ “We’re… looking at each other, now.”

***

Kit lets himself put a name to it, a week and a half later.

He’s laying in bed, staring at the ceiling with wide eyes while the feeling of _Ming_ still lingers, very present, as if he never even left, all around him. Undoubtedly, Ming is _still_ there, in his room with him—from the empty bottle of water on the nightstand; to the rumpled blankets beneath him. To the warmth, even, that still remains on the back of his hand; to the jacket of Ming’s that Kit had wanted to keep, but was too reluctant to ask, but Ming saw through him anyways, and ‘accidentally on purpose’ left it behind.

(Kit can see it, out of the corner of his eye—draped over the chair in front of his desk, tempting and inviting, but how could he even attempt to retrieve it when Ming’s scent still lingered on his sheets?)

He lolls his head to the side and instead focuses on the empty space beside him, as if Ming could just suddenly appear there, all smiles and sunshine and laughter that Kit thinks sounds kind of like music. He looks away pointedly at that thought, his ears catching on fire. His heart is beating, steady and strong, but it’s different than normal. Kit cannot place why, exactly, it feels so different, but it _does._

Perhaps it’s the emotion, nestled there, slowly wrapping itself even further around Kit’s heart.

It has been taking hold for a while now, Kit knows. It’s been there, growing stronger and louder and sometimes it makes Kit forget what he’s doing, makes him smile at something silly he thinks Ming would laugh at or enjoy, makes him daydream when he really shouldn’t be. He cannot count how many times Pha has bruised his arms, or how many times Beam’s kicked his shins.

Kit can hear his heart in his ears, can feel Ming all around him. He lifts a hand slowly, spreading his fingers as his palm greets the ceiling. If he focused enough, he could still feel Ming’s lips there, on the back of his hand, could still feel Ming’s fingers there, curved to the side of his hand. Kit sighs, a loud, drawn out noise before squeezing his eyes tightly shut.

It’s when his phone chimes with a new message that Kit jumps, pulled from his thoughts.

**Seems I forgot my jacket! Take care of it for me?**

Kit rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath something along the lines of _‘forgot your jacket, my ass.’_ But he’s smiling, fond and soft, that same tenderness sending bursts of happiness all throughout his body. He casts the jacket a look, and although he had already set on _not_ sleeping with it, he just might, just because. Kit reasons with himself, that he didn’t really _need_ a reason.

 _Sure,_ he types. _Be more careful next time. I won’t be nursing you back to health if you get sick, just so you know._

**But you WOULD nurse me back to health, Kittyyyy!**

_My ass, I would._

**I don’t think I’ll get sick though.**

Kit rolls his eyes, typing out that Ming shouldn’t doubt the effects of the weather and no jacket combo, when his phone pings with another message.

**Just thinking about you sleeping with my jacket is enough to keep me healthy.**

Kit clicks his phone screen off, pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead as if it would help the rush of emotion, or the oncoming headache. Ming’s words didn’t make sense, _not at all,_ but the words still affected him, still made him ridiculously happy even if they were complete nonsense. Kit’s smiling and shaking his head as his phone goes off a few more times.

**I know it doesn’t make sense, P’Kitkat.**

**But it’s true. I could overcome anything if I have you on my mind.**

_Ming._

**It’s the same for you?** Attached are a string of smiley emojis and hearts, to which Kit’s smile tugs wider at.

_Don’t you know?_

**I do. It’s like I said before, P’Kit.**

Kit swallows, the sudden lump in his throat making it hard to concentrate. He glances back and forth between the message and the back of his hand, and if it weren’t for the way he already felt so _airy,_ he wouldn’t dare to admit the butterflies in the pit of his stomach.

 _It’s like he said before,_ Kit thinks, the corners of his lips tugging upward.

/

 _He isn’t sure why he pulls away from the kiss, but he does. Maybe it was the need to breathe, or the way his head seemed too full of everything that was_ Ming _, yet so empty all at the same time. Or, a little voice in the back of his mind supplied, maybe it was the fact the heat flooding his face started to settle south._

_Even with that, though, his heart seems to burst in his chest when Ming all but leans forward, chasing his lips, unwilling to end the kiss just yet. His hands are splayed against Kit’s hips, shyly, questioningly coaxing him closer, but never forcing. Kit smiles, rolls his eyes, and Ming just sighs, dreamy and fond although his eyebrows were furrowed._

_“P’Kit…” he whines._

_Kit hums, sliding his hands to the back of Ming’s neck. He buries his fingers in the short strands there, tracing circles against the back of Ming’s scalp. His thighs were staring to hurt with how long he’s been straddling Ming, but he doesn’t complain—only shifts a bit, careful and slow, because he really didn’t want to embarrass himself further._

_“P’Kit.”_

_“Ming,” Kit murmurs, focusing his attention to the boy beneath him._

_“Why…” Ming sighs, fingers twitching against Kit’s hips. He closes his eyes, enjoying the feel of Kit’s fingers in his hair. “Why’d you… stop, P’Kit?”_

_Kit shrugs although Ming can’t see it. Instead, he stares openly, taking in everything—to Ming’s eyebrows, the swoop of his hair, the little scar on the bridge of his nose, the shape of his lips. Kit can feel his heart pounding in his ears and it is so strong, so_ fierce, _that he’s surprised Ming hasn’t begun shaking with the force of it. He opens his mouth, but shuts it just as quickly._

_“I…” Kit shrugs again, glancing up at Ming’s now opened eyes before dropping his gaze to Ming’s collarbone. He could feel his face flush, could feel the beat of his heart against his temples. A bundle of emotions were stuck in his throat, lodged there right along with his hesitance and worry. “I just…” Kit shakes his head, heartbeat frantic. “I don’t know, I…”_

_It was familiar, this feeling—familiar, but different from all the other times. It’s a flutter that’s just a bit stronger, a tug that’s just a bit rougher. The word comes into his head easily, embarrassingly so, yet still it gets stuck in his throat, making it difficult to swallow._

_Ming stares at him, his eyes open and wide and honest and he saw something there, in the way Kit shrugged, in the way he averted his eyes, and he knew Kit well enough that he was_ able _to see it. He moves his hands a bit, his lips tugging upward because he could_ feel _the warmth from Kit’s body through his shirt. “…Kit?” Ming whispers softly, and it seemed to do_ something, _because Kit ducks his head._

_“That’s…” Kit laughs a bit, breathless, his eyes wide. He watches his own movements as he slides his hands to Ming’s shoulders, rubbing the collar of his shirt between a thumb and index finger, just for a small distraction. It’s difficult to say, but he forces his mouth to work. “I just, there’s… I’m pretty sure… there is something I want to say, Ming, and it’s—it’s, God.”_

_Ming tilts his head, amused. He knows he shouldn’t tease, but it’s too good of an opportunity to pass up. “God?”_

_“No, I mean. It’s… what I… that I… what it is, is that I…” Kit stumbles over his words and it is even more embarrassing than he was anticipating. He sighs, swallowing against the lump in his throat. Vaguely, Kit wonders if it would ever go away—the hesitance, the worry, the fear he felt lingering at the threshold of his mind. He knows, by now, there is no need for worry, or fear, because Ming was in front of him, the sun in his eyes, the shine of the moon in his smile. Ming was here with him, touching him,_ staring at him _and waiting for whatever words that was on the tip of his tongue._

_“Kit,” Ming says again, somehow even softer than before as he inclines his head only to catch Kit’s gaze. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, he raises a hand and sets it against Kit’s chest, over the rapid beat of his heart. For a moment, Kit looks surprised —embarrassed, his cheeks flushed, his eyes wide. Ming watches as Kit glances down, taking in the sight of Ming’s hand against his chest, his fingers splayed there._

_It doesn’t go unnoticed, by Ming, the way Kit’s heart skips a beat._

_“…Ming?” Kit murmurs, hating the way his voice cracks—but Ming chooses to overlook it, the expression on his face all but fond as he rests his hand against Kit’s chest. There’s an urge, there, to back away and hide, to ignore the whole exchange as if it had never happened, but there is something else, blatantly obvious to himself, that prevents it. Kit stays where he is, his cheeks burning more and more with each passing second as his heart hammers against the palm of Ming’s hand._

_Surely, Ming could feel it, and the thought makes Kit want to die of embarrassment, because surely Ming would piece together the evidence, and—_

_“I know,” Ming says, and it’s so quiet that Kit barely hears him, even this close._

_“I… you…” Kit focuses his gaze on Ming’s chin. He feels electrified,_ seen _. “You know?”_

_Ming hums as he closes his eyes, leaning forward only to rest his forehead to Kit’s. He grazes his thumb against Kit’s shirt aimlessly, as if it would help calm the beat of his heart. Ming smiles, because he’s sure his own heart is beating just as quickly. “You don’t have to use your words around me,” Ming tells him softly. At Kit’s curious hum, Ming continues: “I know what you mean. I know what… you’re trying to say, what you want to say…”_

_Kit feels his stomach drop, funnily enough._

_“Most of the time, at least,” Ming adds as he leans away._

_“Then… right now, do you…”_

_“Yes.” Ming replies back quickly, confidently, that familiar light in his eye as he looks at Kit. He takes his hand away from Kit’s chest only to lay it over Kit’s, where it rests on his shoulder. “I know what you’re trying to say.”_

_“And…” Kit hesitates, his eyebrows furrowing together. His gaze settles on Ming, and then their hands, and then anywhere else. “And yet, you aren’t saying it.”_

_Ming perks up, his smile on the edge of mischief. “You want me to say it, P’Kit?”_

“No!” _Kit says hurriedly, wincing at the way shock replaced the smile on Ming’s face. “No, I mean, that’s not what I meant, Ming. I mean, it’s just, I—I want to…” Kit pauses, shaking his head furiously as if it would help stop the way the words want to tumble from his lips. That feeling is back again: the urge to climb off of Ming and pretend this never happened, pretend the words didn’t_ almost _just fly out of his mouth moments prior, but that would be cruel, and unfair, and Kit loves Ming too much to do that to him._

_“…P’Kit?” Ming murmurs, and it is soft and sweet, just another gentle push, much like it always is._

_“I just…” Kit squeezes Ming’s shoulder, the corners of his mouth twitching upward at the feel of Ming squeezing his hand. He stares at the collar of Ming’s shirt as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. “I guess I just… I want to… say it first…” he confesses hesitantly, cursing himself silently because it sounded more like a question than anything._

_It’s silent, eerily so, enough to the point that Kit really does feel like he will die on the spot, and he wonders why Ming hasn’t reacted at all, and—_

_“P’Kit,” Ming says, and just by the gentle tilt of his voice, Kit feels the anxiety uncoil. “Look at me.”_

_Kit looks up immediately, uncaring of how quickly he complied once he sees the look on Ming’s face. It’s the same as usual, really: soft, full of stars, the galaxies instead seeming to take residency in Ming’s irises, his pupils, instead of the atmosphere; and it’s there, with a sense of clarity that he honestly cannot call sudden, that Kit realizes this was not the first time he had thought as such. This time, too, he holds Ming’s gaze, because while it was the same as before, like all the numerous times prior, there was something else there._

_That same swell of emotion—the one that is dangerously close to his heart, the one that threatens to close his throat up—it’s there, the same as before, and before, and perhaps even after. Kit doesn’t look away,_ can’t _look away, rooted to the spot by that familiar emotion in Ming’s eyes, that same softness in his expression._

_He watches as Ming takes his hand away from where it was resting on his shoulder, maneuvering their hands so that his own is cradled in Ming’s larger one. And Kit watches, as still as he’s ever been, as Ming brings his hand up, and up a bit more, until his lips press, tender and affectionate, against the back of Kit’s hand._

_His first thought is that, no one has ever done that to him before._

_“It’s nothing I can’t wait for,” Ming tells him with soft smile, and it’s everything he needs._

_/_

Kit stares at Ming’s message for a moment longer and wonders, just once more, how he was so far gone for the guy that slipped through his cracks and creases. He smiles at the thought, at all the contentment he felt, as he sets his phone down, taking a moment to cover the back of his hand with his other. Kit closes his eyes, focusing on the warmth and the memory, before getting up.

It only takes a moment to grab Ming’s ‘forgotten’ jacket off the back of the chair, and by the time he shuts off his bedside lamp and nestles into bed, Kit has to unlock his phone.

**I do. It’s like I said before, P’Kit.**

The rush of emotion is back again. It happened just mere hours ago, but Kit can still remember the look on Ming’s face, can still feel Ming’s hand splayed against his chest, the palm of his hand to Kit’s rapidly beating heart. _I know what you’re trying to say,_ Ming had said, and much to his own surprise, Kit had felt alright with that.

He presses Ming’s jacket a little closer to his chest, the back of his hand burning with the memory of Ming’s kiss, and types out: _It’s the same for me._

Ming’s reply is immediate: **:)** **♥♥♥♥**

Kit rolls his eyes, smiling all the while he quickly sends “ _♥_ _♥♥_ _”_ before clicking his phone screen off.

(When he wakes up the next morning, there are several messages from Ming, all spamming various emojis—ranging from a little smiley emoji with three floating hearts, an emoji with heart eyes, the cat emoji with heart eyes, and what looks like every colorful heart possible, aside from the broken one.)

***

Kit stares at a little white box. It sits in the palm of his hand, somewhat ominous in the way it seems to feel so heavy, yet feel so light all at the same time. He’s hyperaware of everything around him—the noises filtering in from outside, the emptiness of the room because Ming had went to get the both of them dinner, even the texture of the little box feels strange against his skin.

The worry is there, and the hesitance too, but it’s tamer now. Kit is able to roll every negative emotion into what he hopes is a tight little ball, and push it into the very back of his mind—for now, at least, it is out of sight and partially out of mind.

He takes a deep breath, counting the seconds, and slips the little box underneath his pillow. Kit glances at the bedside clock. Ming would be back any minute now, a wide smile and plastic bags full of food in tow.

What he needs now is a little bit of courage.

*

It comes to him an hour or two later.

He phrases it as such because with Ming, the passage of time was different— _everything_ was: noises, tastes, the intensity of laughter and smiles, and scarily enough, even the flow of time. It comes to him as Ming is humming contently beside him, pressed side by side, their backs to the foot of the bed. Ming is as close as humanly possible, his warmth seeping into Kit’s body, his leg thrown over one of Kit’s legs lazily.

Courage comes to him—slowly, like the rays of the moon meeting the Earth, simply because of how comfortable he felt, right there beside Ming, listening as the guy chuckled and hummed to himself only to lean over and show Kit just what it was that made him laugh or hum. It’s warm, and comfortable, and so easy to just laugh and raise an eyebrow in response. It’s easy, and effortless, and so homely with empty takeout containers around them, that Kit cannot help but feel like it’s everything and too much all at once.

Courage bubbles up in his throat—quickly, much like how the Earth must take in the rays of the moon. He thinks back to Pin’s words, of how the only thing that mattered was how comfortable you are with the person, and knows she was right, _is right._ Even now, sitting beside Ming with a nasty mix of courage and anxiety rampaging in his chest, he felt relief—could feel the courage and love and every ounce of affection in his body overcome the anxiety.

“…Ming,” he says quietly, his eyes aimlessly staring at the notebook in his hands.

“P’Kit! Sorry, was I being too loud?” Ming looks over quickly, apologetic.

“No, that’s…no, you weren’t loud at all.”

“Oh.” Ming tilts his head, confused and only mildly worried. Kit isn’t looking at him, but he doesn’t look upset, so all Ming does is stare questioningly. “Then, P’Kit…?”

“I have something,” Kit says, nodding to himself as he glances toward Ming. He shuts his notebook, sliding it forward and out of the way. “For you,” he adds.

“Oh,” he hums, and then: “…oh?” Ming watches as Kit stands up, thoroughly confused as all Kit does is sit on the bed. He can’t see much from the angle, but he can tell from the way the pillow moved that Kit got something from underneath it. However, as the seconds pass, all Kit does is sit there, quiet and still. “…Kit?” Ming murmurs softly, careful as he sets his phone aside before climbing onto the bed behind the other.

“Can you—“ Kit pauses, inclining his head, and all Ming wants to do is reach forward and touch the back of his neck, to offer comfort and whatever else Kit may need, but he doesn’t. “Do you think you can… close your eyes.”

“My eyes?”

“Mm.” Kit nods, his ears reddening.

Ming settles onto the bed comfortably, crossing his legs. “Okay,” he says, and closes his eyes.

Kit glances behind him, fear lodged in his throat—but there is no need, and he knows this for a fact, because once again, _Ming is here_. He’s here, the sun behind his closed eyes, the shine of the moon hidden by the concentrated frown of his lips. Ming is there, with him, _waiting._ And so, Kit swallows against the fear, and it becomes a little less terrifying.

He’s slow to turn himself around, sitting across from Ming with his legs crossed, the corners of the little white box biting into the palm of his hand. Kit cannot help but wave a hand in front of Ming’s face to try and gauge a reaction, and when no such reaction comes, Kit lowers his hand as well as his gaze to the box in his hand.

Once again, he recalls Pin’s words and in turn, remembers that same comfort, that same flutter in the pit of his stomach. Kit recalls the first time Ming kissed him, the clamminess of his palms, the warmth of Ming’s lips; he recalls all the flirting, the gentle touches, the way Ming showed all of his love through his smiles, his expressions, his touches and his words and his actions.

Kit smiles, unbidden and unseen, as he lifts the lid off the tiny box.

The rings catch in the light, embarrassingly enough. Kit glances up at Ming, his eyes still closed, his expression still concentrated, but Kit can see the curiosity there, the urge to open his eyes and take a peek. Carefully, as if the way his hands shook would shatter the rings, he takes them out of the box, the cool feel of the silver a stark contrast to the fire just beneath the tips of his fingers.

“Hold out your hand,” Kit says.

“Can I—?”

“Not yet.”

Ming sticks out his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout, but it smoothes out once Kit’s laughter greets his ears, soft and quiet. He smiles, wide and boyish, as he offers his hand, palm up.

Kit gives the rings one last lingering look, shoving away all doubt and anxiety, and gently sets them in Ming’s waiting palm. He glances toward the other only to immediately direct his gaze toward the little box again. “You can… open your eyes,” he says quietly.

He does not know whether or not Ming’s eyes are open—and if they are, he has no idea of the expression on his face. It’s silent as he waits, and then Kit decides he cannot wait any longer, and lets the words spill from his mouth.

“Uhm, well. Yeah—they, they’re uh, you can see them. I think. I hope. But yes, they’re rings, and I don’t know, I just. It was impulsive. I saw the bracelets Wayo and Pha were wearing, and I thought that, well, we should have something like that, that you would… like that. Not that the idea didn’t appeal to me, either. I mean, I _bought_ them. With Pha. With extra money I earned from tutoring. In case you were wondering.” Kit nods, all to himself, as the words tumble from his lips like vomit. He extracts the foam from the box, and fiddles with the two small plastic pouches containing necklace chains. Kit shakes them just enough so the sound is hearable, just to hear something other than the silence and the beat of his own heart. “I bought these chains, too. They’re just regular silver necklaces, because I thought that maybe all the girls on campus would lose their minds if they saw you wearing a ring. They’re… long enough so the ring is hidden beneath our shirts… and…” Kit pauses, taken aback. “Ming?”

Kit just barely saw it, from his peripheral vision.

“Ming?” He reaches out, unsure. Just a bit more and he could touch Ming’s face. Kit ducks his head a bit. “…You’re crying.”

“No,” Ming denies quickly, shaking his head as he sniffs. He’s staring down at the rings—plain as they may be with their simple silver design, they made up the prettiest set of jewelry Ming’s ever seen. They sit in the palm of his hand, the light glinting off them every so often with the way his hands shook. “I, that’s… P’Kit, I’m not _crying_.”

Kit laughs, incredulous. He leans forward, softened even further by this guy in front of him, as he wipes away a fresh tear rolling down Ming’s cheek. Kit lifts his bent finger, showing his findings. “Then, what is this, Ming?”

Quickly, Ming wraps his free hand around Kit’s as he looks up—and he must look a bit different from usual, because Kit looks surprised. Ming can only imagine the expression on his face, the tears swelling up in his eyes, some of them falling over, staining his shirt and the blanket underneath them only momentarily. He squeezes Kit’s hand, a shy laugh spilling from his lips because—

“It’s happiness, Kit.”

“Oh.” Kit stares at him without really seeing, the simplicity of Ming’s answer throwing him for a loop. _It’s happiness._ He watches as Ming’s eyes tear up, watches as a few roll down his cheeks, sliding out from the corners and getting caught in the crease of his nose. He watches as Ming’s eyebrows furrow, as he looks down at the rings with something a little sweeter than happiness. Ming squeezes his hand, and he laughs, joyous and shy, as if unaccustomed to such displays of affection. “It’s… oh.”

“Kit. I—“

“Ming. _Ming_ ,” Kit hushes him, overwhelmed by the intensity that is his boyfriend _._ He looks away only to look back, because really, he could never _honestly_ tear his eyes away for long. Kit can see many things there, in Ming’s expression and his eyes. There is, of course, softness, and the stars, and still the galaxies refuse to leave Ming’s irises, his pupils, and he’s sure that they’ve made his eyes their home instead of the atmosphere. Kit can see the love, the adoration, the affection—it is there, a fire in his eyes, the flush of his cheeks; and Kit wonders if his own face, his expression and his eyes, mirror Ming’s own.

“Kit.”

Kit has to look away, this time, as he gently retracts his hand from Ming’s. He opens one of the little pouches, pouring the necklace into the palm of his hand shakily. It’s a difficult process to open the clasp with the way Ming watches him and with the childish giddiness making his head spin, but Kit manages it after a few attempts. He’s unsure of what to say, how to convey what he wants to happen next, but like all other times, Ming understands.

Ming offers up the hand with the rings confidently, his brows knitted curiously, but all Kit gives him is a small smile.

He takes the bigger ring. “I was… unsure of your ring size. I didn’t want to ask, even in a roundabout way, because I wanted… this to be a surprise,” Kit explains carefully. He doesn’t look at Ming, but he can feel Ming’s eyes on him. They watch his hands intently, with great interest, as if what he was doing was worthy of the cinema. His hands shake, embarrassingly so, but Kit tells himself not to mind it—this is Ming, this is for _Ming,_ for _them._ Kit slips the chain through the ring quicker than he expected. “Maybe sometime… we can get them resized. While I was buying them, I wasn’t too concerned with the fit, but I got a bigger size just in case.”

Ming hums in understanding before smiling. “Or we could always… buy new ones.”

Kit fumbles with closing the clasp, a huff of laughter spilling from his lips. He shakes his head, but it’s fond, and there’s a smile curving his lips, there’s a flush on his face. “We could do that,” he murmurs, brows narrowing in concentration. Kit connects the ends of the necklace together, sliding a hand down only to enclose the ring in his fist. “Get a bit closer, Ming.”

Ming gives him a curious look, but does as Kit says.

“Lower your head a bit,” he instructs softly, and once Ming does, Kit’s lifting the necklace, putting it around Ming’s neck. He lets go of the ring once the chain is settled against the back of Ming’s neck, letting it collide gently against Ming’s chest. Kit watches as Ming looks down at it, moonstruck, his eyes full of awe and his smile so wide it looks painful. It’s when Ming looks up suddenly, his lips parting open to surely say something that would make Kit feel like cloud nine was home for a week straight, but Kit beats him to it.

He’s quick to take Ming’s hands in his own, and it’s enough for Ming to falter momentarily. Kit squeezes his hands, holding on tight because his next words would surely shift the entire universe, would surely shake every cluster of stars and maybe even halt the meteors in their striking paths.

“I love you, Ming.”

Kit isn’t sure what he expected Ming to do, but he isn’t surprised when Ming laughs. It’s contagious, dangerously loud, and sounds a bit tearful. Ming laughs like he’s dreaming, like he’s on a cloud even grander than _nine,_ like the world has gifted him with something he’d only ever wished for. Ming squeezes Kit’s hands right back, and there is a moment there, between the tears and the hiccups of laughter, that Ming almost feels bad for potentially hurting Kit’s hands, but he reasons with himself, that the indent of the ring still in his hand would make it all the more okay.

Only when his laughter dies down does Ming gently retract his hands from Kit’s hold—it’s the last thing he wants to do, but he has to, and although he knows that _Kit knows,_ he still does so reluctantly. Ming wonders if Kit had felt this giddy, this _boyish,_ this nervous. His hands shake as he repeats everything that Kit had just done—pouring the necklace into his hand, unclasping it, slipping one end of the necklace through the ring itself.

There is an embarrassing thought here, one that runs through both of their minds, unbeknownst to each other—one along the lines of how ceremonial it all felt, how _right_ it seemed.

Ming holds the ends of the necklace awkwardly in his hands, the blunt of his fingernail just barely holding back the knob of the hook to keep it open. He glances toward Kit, uncertain, and although Kit looks just as nervous as Ming felt, Kit gives what he hopes is an encouraging smile and the tiniest nod of his head.

Everything seems clearer, after that.

“Won’t you come a bit closer, P’Kit?”

Kit rolls his eyes, but does as Ming asks.

“Just a bit more.”

Kit huffs, but he scoots as close as possible so his knees touch Ming’s. “Any more requests?”

“No.” Ming shakes his head, his smile full of mischief. “I’ll kiss you after I’m done, so there’s no need.”

“ _Ming_ —“

“Kit,” he sing songs, soft and airy. He doesn’t wait, nor does he hesitate. Ming reaches out so he’s able to loop his arms languidly over Kit’s shoulders. He leans forward the tiniest bit, tilting his head to see the task at hand. It takes a few tries, getting the necklace clasped, and when he does, Ming keeps a hand there, palm to the back of Kit’s neck. When he leans back, he leans right back in only to bump his forehead to Kit’s. “P’Kit,” Ming murmurs, leaning away. “I have something to tell you.”

Kit’s sure he’s on fire, even as he hums in question. He suppresses a shiver once Ming’s hand leaves the back of his neck, his wide eyes watching Ming’s every move intently—Ming shifts, and then his hands are between them, the palms of his hands against the back of Kit’s hands. Not quite holding, but close enough that the butterflies erupt in the pit of Kit’s stomach regardless.

“Before I tell you, though… won’t you look at me, P’Kit?”

Kit considers it. He is embarrassed beyond reason—shy although their relationship doesn’t quite call for it, anymore. But it’s there—Kit can feel his ears redden, can hear the rapid pulse of his heart in his ears; he’s sure the intensity of his flame as given Ming burns, by now. The world feels upside down, too good to be true, and the only reason he is anchored down is because the universe is in front of him, another person. Silently, Kit curses himself, and looks up.

Ming smiles at him—wide, the shine of the moon as present as it always is as his eyes shine with the rays of the sun, and all Kit can think is: _this is enough._ It’s enough, with Ming there, in front of him, but then Ming gives a little more, much like he always does.

“I love you, too, Kit,” Ming tells him softly, and it’s everything he needs.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading ♥♥


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